“Not a chance,” Christine answers for him. “He’s been running his mouth about this for twenty minutes now. He has absolutely no chill.”
“Hey, I can be cool,” Greg says defensively. “In fact, I’ll be so cool, Jack Bradford will want to bemyfriend.”
“That would be more convincing if you didn’t keep using both of his names.”
He shoots me a wounded look while Christine nudges him toward the bar. “Hey, cool guy, why don’t you cooloffand go order Cass a drink?”
Greg sighs dramatically. “Fine. You want your usual pinot grigio?”
“Actually, how about an old-fashioned?”
“An old-fashioned? Like, with bourbon?” He looks dubious, and I can’t blame him—I’ve been drinking the same thing since he’s known me.
“Yeah.” I school my expression, not wanting to raise his antennae. “Just feel like changing it up tonight.”
He casts me a funny look, but dutifully raises a hand for the bartender. “If you say so.”
As soon as his back is turned, Christine pulls me away a few paces. “Okay. Any last-minute directions? Changes? Warnings?”
“Nope. Just be normal, and back me up any time I say something bizarre.”
“I have plenty of experience with that.” I roll my eyes, and she finally seems to register my outfit, giving me a once-over. “What are youwearing?”
“You don’t like it?” I ask, striking a pose.
Despite feeling as out of place as Elle Woods in a Playboy bunny costume, I actually don’t mind tonight’s getup: a blue tweed pencil skirt paired with a sleeveless white silk blouse that ties at the neck. And pumps, of course, because:Wear high heels as often as possible—they’re sexier!Armed with my Brigitte Bardot–inspired hair (per Gran’s latest advice: “Tease it to Jesus!”), I’m ready. Nat deemed the look “very Grace Kelly inRear Window.” I called it “secretarial chic.”
“You look like a librarian.” She slurps her martini.
“Thanks a lot.” I smooth the bow at my throat, fingering the antique gold-and-rhinestone brooch I dug out of my jewelry box. It’s a piece I admired as a teenager on Gran, who unpinned it from her sweater and gifted it to me on the spot.
I stroke it now like a talisman. “Anyway, that’s fine, because I don’t want to give him any ideas.”
“Well, you’ve succeeded. A handmaid shows more skin.”
I’m swatting her when I see Jack duck through the door. “Crap, there he is.” I throw my shoulders back, slide on a smile, and begin my mental metamorphosis into Betty.
“That’sJack? Whoa, he’swaybetter-looking than you let on.”
Gah. “Not you too! Look, just remember that he’s built his entire professional career on demeaning and degrading women.” I catch his eye and wave him over.
“I think I might let him degrade me.”
“Please act normal,” I hiss through clenched teeth as he cuts his way through the crowd.
“I hardly thinkI’mthe one who needs to be reminded to act normal,” she mutters under her breath just as he reaches us.
“Ladies,” Jack says in greeting, before turning the full force of his smile on me. “Cassidy. It’s great to see you.” I find myself drawn into a hug, and before I can pull away, he presses a kiss to my cheek.
“Watch out, I just blew past first base,” he murmurs in my ear, and I barely have a chance to react before he’s reaching a hand out to my sister. “You must be Christine?”
“That’s me,” she says, accepting his handshake. “And my husband Greg is—”
“Right here!” Greg pops up from behind us and hands off my drink. “Great to meet you. I’m a big fan,” he says, vigorously pumping Jack’s hand. I shoot him a warning look, which he expressly ignores. “I can’t believe you’re not at Yankees-Mets tonight.”
I blink at them both for a moment, confused, before connecting the dots. “Oh, shoot—I didn’t realize there was a game tonight. Is it a problem that you’re missing it?” Betty is nothing if not supportive of her man’s job.Remember: His career comes first!
“Nah, I got a better offer.” He throws me a wink.
